


Freeze & Thaw

by agent85



Series: Written Before Season 2 [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jemma is struggling and someone actually notices, Slow Burn, a little blood in later chapters, or slow thaw I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:30:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3261713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent85/pseuds/agent85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Fitz tries to respect Jemma's wishes and starts dating other people, Jemma finds that she only has her own demons to keep her company. Hopefully, her new personal trainer will make for a good distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I went on a date last night."

There's a silence in the lab that quickly goes stale as Simmons tries to digest the words.

"Oh? Did it go well?" 

The words come out awkwardly; her brain knows that it's the typical response for this situation, but they taste strange in her mouth.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Fitz shrug.

"I dunno. Wasn't terrible. I think I'll take her out again on Friday."

"That's great," she makes herself say.

She knows why he's doing this. He's trying to tell her that he's respecting her wishes, that he's moving on. But it doesn't stop her from feeling a bit sick.

He doesn't say anything else about it, for which she is grateful. But it's obvious that the relationship has lasted more than two dates, because it's a week and a half later that she catches them in a hallway, standing a little too close to each other while gazing out a window. Simmons smiles at Fitz when he catches her eye, but she doesn't stop walking.

On the way back to her room, her brain is busy trying to figure out who the girl is and what her position is within the new SHIELD. She tells herself that she's just looking out for her friend.

She tells herself that she's relieved that he found someone, that he recovered so quickly after she rejected him.

The next day in the lab, she can tell by the way he looks at her that he wants to talk about it. She avoids looking back at him.

"Her name's Hannah," he eventually says, no preamble needed. "She's a psychologist."

Jemma bites back a remark about soft sciences before giving a nod and a smile. "She seems nice. I'm so happy for you."

"Yeah?" He looks at her as if he hopes that she's proud of him.

"Yeah," she says. 

***

Simmons looks at the order in disbelief, reading it a second time just to make sure that she's not hallucinating. 

"Combat training? He wants us to do combat training?"

"Seems so," Fitz says, taking the piece of paper out of her hands. "Sounds like a colossal waste of time to me. It's not like we have important, world-saving scientific breakthroughs to make or anything."

She turns to smile at him, and they share a knowing glance before he breaks it and takes a step back. 

"You know what he'll say," she finally says.

"Yeah, I know." Fitz lets out a frustrated sigh, and she knows that he's thinking about running through hallways and closing pod doors. She almost puts a hand on his shoulder before stopping herself.

"Well, this dendrotoxin isn't going to replicate itself, is it?" 

His anxiety fades as he looks at her. "And it certainly won't find a more efficient guiding system, that's for sure."

They exchange a smile, and once again, it's like it used to be, until it's not.

They go back to work, silent, until May pokes her head in the lab, and they know the jig is up.

***

"Agent Brian Masters," the tall man says as he offers his hand. Simmons shakes it, sending a glance Fitz's way. Fitz shrugs.

"Agent Jemma Simmons," she says.

"Yes, I know." He stands up straight and smiles a rather charming smile at her, and she's trying to hold back a blush, but she notices the symmetry in his facial features, and knows there must be some pink in her cheeks. "I'm going to have the honor of training you, Agent Simmons."

She cocks her head. "Just . . ." She looks at Fitz, "me?"

"Agent Fitz, I presume?" Masters reaches his hand towards Fitz, who takes it reluctantly. "Director Coulson has ordered these training sessions to be one-on-one. Agent Fitz, your personal instructor should arrive soon."

"Is someone talking about me?" Simmons turns to greet the person belonging to the booming voice.

"Trip!"

It takes her a moment to realize that the name came out of Fitz's mouth, not hers, and that Fitz has left her side to greet him. Trip seems as surprised at the enthusiasm as Simmons is, because he sends her a confused look as he waves. She waves back and shrugs. She lets out a sigh when Fitz grabs his arm and leads him out of sight.

"Friend of yours?"

She turns back, feeling a bit sheepish that she'd almost forgotten Masters was there.

"We were both at the Hub when Hydra came out of hiding." She sees Master's eyes darken with unfortunate understanding. "Then, he came and helped out here for a bit, before Coulson sent him elsewhere. I haven't seen him in weeks." She doesn't say that Trip left right before Fitz woke up, and she tries not to remember the multitude of unsaid words that accumulated between them before he left.

"Ah, well. Let's get to it, shall we?"

***

It takes a week or two, but Simmons eventually has to admit that she enjoys the training sessions. Masters, as it turns out, is patient, kind, and experienced at training women. Besides, Simmons finds that she likes the way his muscular hands grip her arms, or her hips, as he corrects her form, and the way he smiles when she successfully lands a punch. She doesn't enjoy the strength training portion of her time with Masters, but it beats the tediousness of the lab, and she finds that soon she can run a mile without stopping (a very, very slow mile). Since she and Fitz train at different times, there are four fewer hours in the day where she has to share an awkward silence with her very best friend. 

"Do you feel like your calves are getting bigger?" she asks one day, as a freshly-showered Fitz walks in the lab. "I don't feel like I've lost any weight, but my calves are suddenly huge."

Fitz eyes her cautiously. "You don't have any weight to lose," he finally says, "sounds like you're gaining muscle. Must be the running."

She was about to tell him about the wonders of the human body's adaptability to physical exertion, but his tone tells her to back off, so she allows the question to go unanswered.

"How is it training with Trip?" she says, the words shooting out of her mouth when the silence suffocates her. When he looks at her, his eyes are tired.

"It's good. Hard, but," Fitz puts his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground. "He's a good guy, you know? I . . . I can see it now."

She senses a change in the air, but it takes her a second before it hits her that the conversation they had was unbearably awkward, especially for Fitz. The realization of the impropriety of her questions sends her into a panic, and when Fitz mumbles something about Hannah and leaves the room, she just offers him a nod and a terrified smile. 

When he's long gone, and she's fully recovered, she adds her body and Trip to the list of topics that she can't talk to Fitz about.

***

"Don't tell me, you're working on yet another super dendrotoxin serum-thing." Skye asks between bites. Simmons nods. "Let's talk about something that won't bore me to tears." She pauses, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. "I hear the guy they have training you is super hot."

Simmons gives her a hesitant smile. "Agent Masters does have classically handsome features," she admits, "but SHIELD's rules about fraternization  . . ."

"Are non-existent," Skye interrupts. "New SHIELD, new rules. I mean, I have a feeling that it'll get in the handbook eventually, but until then, it's allowed."

"On a technicality!"

Really, she thinks, it's only because there are really no rules left, and SHIELD isn't really SHIELD anymore.

Skye shrugs. "So take advantage of it!" She takes a sip of soda. "I know Fitz is. I caught those two love birds making out in a storage closet the other day when I was looking for an extra USB cable." Skye leans in. "It was awkward, but hilarious. The looks on their faces . . . you should have seen it."

Simmons looks at her friend, not missing the tinge of sadness in her eyes. She puts her hand over Skye's.

"I'm sorry."

Skye pulls her hand away and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it. It's been so long, and May keeps me so busy, I barely even think about being seduced and betrayed by my somewhat rapey S.O. anymore."

They shouldn't laugh, but they do. Half of it is Skye's ironic tone, and the rest is all the things they'd rather not think about.

"Seriously though, Simmons," Skye says, "you should go for it. You could use a little romance in your life, after everything with HYDRA, and all that time you spent thinking Fitz wasn't going to make it. Besides, then I can live vicariously through you."

She gives Skye a scoff that hopefully comes off as playful, because her friend doesn't know what happened at the bottom of the ocean, or next to Fitz's hospital bed. She wonders if Skye would give the same advice if she knew how much romance she has in her life already.

But when she finishes her training session that day, and Masters asks to take her out for drinks, she says yes.

***

She feels odd when she walks into the lab the next day, like she's sneaking back into her parents' house after staying out too late. The truth is that drinks ended up just being drinks, and Fitz isn't even there. She should have known that; he's always training with Trip in the mornings. By the time he does come in, she's completely composed, and she's convinced herself that the right thing to do is to keep it to herself. So, she tells him that she has the formula for the new material he'll need to complete his current project, and he beams at her.

Later, when Masters tells her that he had a great time last night, she agrees, because she technically did. And when he tells her that Coulson is pleased with her progress, that the training will be over by the end of the week, and that he can ask her out on a proper date then, something makes her say that she can't wait.


	2. Chapter 2

"I just . . . I wanted to tell you . . ." she stammers, trying to make her voice calm and even when it wants to go a mile a minute. 

"I know about you and Masters," he says offhandedly, but she knows it's not offhanded. He has his head down as he focuses on tightening a bolt.

"Oh."

"Hannah was thinking we could double."

"It's not  . . ." she's trying to figure out how he could have known, because they've tried to be discreet, but she reminds herself that it's a small base and with the new security measures, she's probably kidding herself if she believes that she has any real privacy. "It's just been a few dates, there's nothing . . ." She sees him looking back at her, but it's like he's watching her through glass. It's like she's underwater. "We're not a couple," she finally explains.

Fitz shrugs, and she can see that the exhaustion has crept back into his eyes. 

"Doesn't mean you can't go out with us," he says, returning to his work.

"Yeah, okay." She imagines Fitz and Masters at the same table, and she knows the panic she feels is completely irrational, so she buries it. "It would be nice to meet Hannah," she adds. They've been dating for how long now? Two months? It's almost become weird that she  _hasn't_  met Hannah.

"So you'll talk to Masters? Or do you want me to . . ." 

She shakes her head. "I can talk to him. What did you have in mind? Dinner?"

They talk about details, and the tension in the room is unmistakable, like they've suddenly entered into an agreement that it's okay to lie to each other. Like they're just characters in a play.

She doesn't want to think about how long they've been acting.

And when they've agreed on a time and a place, she feels the tension linger as they go back to their work, like there's a connection that she should be making, but she's not making it.

It's when the day is over, and he's about to leave that the words come out, unbidden.

"I wanted you to hear it from me," she says.

He stops, a hand gripping the door frame.

"I know," he answers.

"I wasn't hiding it from you."

"I know."

***

"So you and Masters are hot and heavy, huh?"

Simmons avoids Skye's gaze and the insinuation that she knows will come with it, choosing instead to focus on keeping pace with the treadmill.

"We're going on dates, that's all."

"Well, yeah, but how do the dates  _end_?"

It takes all of her concentration to not fall over.

"Whoa, Simmons. Maybe we should slow down."

Simmons sees that she's completed her program anyway, and nods as she gets off and grabs a towel. Skye hands her a water bottle as if it's a peace offering.

"I guess you're not used to girl talk, huh?"

Simmons shakes her head as she tries to simultaneously catch her breath and drink the cool water in one long gulp.

"Probably not something you do with Fitz."

"Definitely not."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Skye cock her head, a strange grin forming on her lips.

"Do you ever talk to him about Hannah?"

"Not really." Simmons focuses on stretches that are suddenly very important. Skye follows her example, doing the same movements, and Simmons suddenly feels like she's the prey, and her friend is ready to pounce.

"I hear they're official now," Skye teases, "have been for a while."

"I didn't realize."

"Oh yeah, but you know, I shouldn't be surprised. She's pretty amazing; have you met her?"

"I'm going to meet her tomorrow."

"Oh, you are. I see. Well, let me tell you, you will be blown away. I have no idea how Fitz managed to get a girl like her. He has the social skills of an agoraphobic lobster."

Simmons stops stretching. "A what?"

"You know," Skye clarifies, "he's so awkward. Especially when you're not there to wingman for him."

"I do not 'wingman' for Fitz."

Skye shrugged. "You know what I mean, right? You smooth him out a little. And he distracts you from yourself. You're quite the team. So, when it comes to someone like Hannah, you just have to wonder what he did to get her, right?"

Simmons decides not to answer.

"Are you okay?"

The question catches Simmons off guard, and she nods quickly.

"Are you sure? Because you haven't been yourself lately. I mean, for a while. I thought it was Fitz, but when he woke up, I thought you'd go back to your usual, peppy self."

Simmons folds her arms in protest. "I'm not peppy."

Skye gives a look. "You're pretty peppy, Simmons. Sunshine and rainbows, twenty-four seven. But you know, now that I think about it, this cloud that's hanging over you? It's been there before your dive."

"I'm fine, Skye." The words come out harsher than she intends.

"Hey," Skye puts her hands up in surrender, "I'm just looking out for you. Someone has to, now that Fitz's attention is focused elsewhere."

"I'm fine, Skye."

It's later, when she's looking at her new body in the mirror (seeing that she's not May, but someday she might have proper abs and biceps), that she wonders if she's become this hard on the inside.

She wonders when she stopped being herself. 

***

She sees Hannah waving at her from across the room, and she puts a hand on Masters' arm to get his attention, pointing across the crowded restaurant towards Fitz's girlfriend.

When they approach, Hannah jumps from her seat to greet them.

"So nice to finally meet you!" she throws her arms around Simmons, who returns the hug warily. "I've heard so much about you."

A chill runs through Simmons as she wonders what, exactly, that means, and she looks to Fitz, who shakes his head solemnly. Simmons sighs with relief.

"I," she says, realizing that it's her turn to speak, "I haven't heard much about you, I'm afraid. I think Fitz wants to keep you all to himself." She tries to play it off, and she thinks it's working, but she's grateful when she feels Masters' hand on her arm and recognizes it as a gentle reminder to introduce him.

Later, when she's trying to decide between the chicken and the fish, she hears the gentle slap of Hannah's menu hitting the table.

"So, Jemma, it turns out that we have a mutual acquaintance."

Simmons looks up at her, trying to ignore the discomfort of hearing her given name from Hannah's lips. "We do?"

Hannah nods. "Marcus Daniels."

Simmons feels her jaw drop.

"He was Hannah's patient right after he was originally captured," Fitz adds, putting an arm around Hannah's shoulders. Simmons looks away.

"That's right, I was. He was an interesting case, too. And very challenging. Luckily for me, then-Agent Coulson provided a very detailed report. When I learned that he enjoyed classical music and brunettes," Hannah runs a hand through her long, dark hair, "I dusted off my flute and went to work."

"She used to play with the Boston Pops," Fitz interjects, and Hannah blushes.

"They used to have a mentoring program for high school students, so not exactly what you think, but it was a great experience." She nudges Fitz playfully with her elbow, and the couple exchanges a glance that Simmons finds a bit irksome. "I made a lot of progress with Marcus, I think. He was starting to open up to me about some of his deep-seeded insecurities, which I believe are what led to the obsession with Audrey." Hannah looks up. "You met Audrey, didn't you?"

"Yes," Simmons answers. "Agent Triplett and I were the only members of the team who actually had contact with Miss Nathan."

Hannah gave a rueful smile. "I'd have given anything to be on that mission. I would have loved to have a chance to finish what I started with Marcus. He had potential to be a very good man, I think. It's sad that you and I were never able to truly give him the opportunity to heal."

Simmons cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"I was taken off of his case about a month after he arrived at the Fridge. I was taken off of all my cases, actually. Reassigned to a small outpost in Saskatchewan. It was a shame, because I felt like I was making real progress."

"You were working at the Fridge?" Simmons asks, dumbfounded. Hannah nods with apparent pride.

"They probably reassigned you  _because_  you were making progress," says Masters. "HYDRA wanted to keep the inmates dangerous, and they've had control of the Fridge for a lot longer than anyone is willing to admit."

Simmons feels a chill run through her.

"They were trying to make them more dangerous, actually," Fitz interjects, "Simmons and I saw it. The output of energy that he was able to generate had-"

"Increased exponentially." Simmons continues, feeling herself defrost a little. "His body was able to reflect so much energy that the equipment that was used to capture him the first time was-"

"Completely ineffective. In the end, I had to rig up a gamma emitter based off of Bruce Banner's designs."

The smile that had spread across Fitz's face fades as he apparently becomes aware of the way Masters is staring at him. Hannah is gaping. Fitz looks down at the table, playing with his fork. Simmons feels her cheeks grow warm.

"Whoa," Masters breathes, breaking the silence, "I knew you two were close, but I had no idea . . ."

As Masters trails off, Simmons finds the courage to look up, and finds that the waiter is finally, finally there to take their orders. When he leaves, Hannah clears her throat and asks Masters about his responsibilities on the Playground. Simmons feels Fitz's gaze, but she doesn't dare to look at him.

By the time the food arrives, they've managed to maintain a very pleasant, ordinary conversation. Simmons has learned that Hannah is actually Dr. Hannah Jensen, and while she can't place it, she knows that she's heard that name before. She spends a few minutes trying to figure out where, but she eventually gives up. Still, if she was notable enough for Simmons to hear about her, then she figures that Hannah must be pretty good at what she does.

Simmons has made a big dent in her pasta (chicken, after all) when she hears Masters swear under his breath, looking at his smart watch. A memory of Fitz tinkering over the prototype stirs in her mind, and when she looks at Fitz, she finds him looking back at her, his expression unreadable.

"I have to go. I'm sorry," Masters says, shaking his head in obvious annoyance. "Coulson wants to meet with me immediately. Are you going to be okay, Jemma?"

Simmons nods and offers her best smile, and he leaves a few bills on the table and places a kiss on her temple before he apologizes again and walks away.

"At least he didn't leave you with the check," Fitz says, and she thinks that Masters must not be the only one annoyed by the call. 

"Leo is very gallant, as you know," Hannah explains, as if she's apologizing for him. Simmons nods, feeling something churning in her heart that she can't push away.

"I do."

Hannah then excuses herself, and Simmons eyes her as the psychologist searches for the restroom, the churning turning to a boiling fit to burst.

"Leo?" Simmons blurts the moment Hannah is out of earshot. " _Leo_?" 

Fitz shrugs. "It  _is_  my name."

"You never let me call you Leo," she accuses. "or anyone else, for that matter. Besides, I thought you said you actually preferred Leopold."

She watches him as he plays with his food, stirring his pasta shells with his fork.

"She likes to call me Leo, and she's my girlfriend." His tone is nonchalant, but she can feel the undercurrent that hides beneath it. She knows what he's trying not to say. "Besides, she doesn't like calling people by their last names. She says it's distancing."

"So I noticed."

She wonders why he's refusing to look at her, and it's maddening. But he seems intent on rearranging his dinner.

"I noticed what Masters called you. Do you call him Brian?"

She knows that the question shouldn't make her angry, but it does.

"That's completely irrelevant, and you know it."

"Seems like my dating life should be irrelevant to you, Seeing as-"

"After all, I don't have an aversion to-"

"Hannah is my girlfriend-"

"My given name. You do."

"And you're not."

She simply stares at him, feeling her eyes grow wet, hearing the harshness in his tone as it continues to ring in her ears. She wants to turn away from him, to walk off and give herself a chance to calm down, but she knows it would cause a scene. So, she takes a breath and wills her heartbeats to slow down.

"I'm sorry, Fitz," she says, letting another breath in and out, "I just meant . . ." she's looking up at the ceiling, as if the right words can be found there, because everything they say these days is laced with accusation and insinuation, and she can't find a way to stop it.

"You don't have to be someone else," she says, "You don't have to change to make people like you. You're my best friend." She tries to reach across the table for his hand, but he pulls away, and she knows she made a mistake.

"But it's not enough," he says.

She finds the anger and sorrow in his eyes, and when she sees something else, something soft and seeking, it becomes too much.

"I'll talk to you in the lab," she says, reaching for her purse as calmly as she can, standing up as gracefully as possible.

"Jemma, please."

"Tomorrow." 

When she turns to leave, she sees Hannah coming towards her, and Simmons gives her a smile and a nod as she reaches for the door.


	3. Chapter 3

She walks home, her steps faster and faster until she's in a dead sprint, because she knows she's about to break and she's not sure why, but she wants to do it within her own four walls. But as she gets back to the compound, she finds May waiting for her.

"Coulson wants you," May says. "Looks like we're going to see if that training you've gone through has done you any good."

Without another word, she escorts Simmons to the situation room, but Jemma can feel the sidelong glances aimed in her direction. May will respect her privacy, of course, but the fact that it's apparent that privacy is needed is almost too much for Jemma to bear. She finds herself pulling at her long sleeves and pushing down the hem of her jumper, just to feel like there is some kind of barrier between her and the rest of the world. It doesn't help much.

When she arrives, she's surprised to see Masters there, smiling at her like he expected her all along. When she sees Billy Koenig, her eyes go directly to the floor, and she has to control her breathing.

"Simmons," Director Coulson says, perhaps with a warmth of familiarity in his tone, "I'm glad we could get you here so quickly. We've just received intel on the locations of a few former Fridge inhabitants, and I'm sending you with Fitz and Jensen to apprehend one of them. Have you met Agent Jensen?"

Simmons swallows, trying to steady herself. "I just met her today, Sir."

"Excellent. I'm sure that Jensen will be able to fill you in on the particular challenges of this mission, as some of these targets are former patients of hers."

Of course they are.

"I've been talking to Masters here, and he believes that you and Fitz are capable of completing this mission on your own, as he will be leading a team to capture another criminal."

Masters winks at her, and she knows she should be embarrassed, or flattered, but she'd too busy trying not to shake.

Within five minutes, she finds herself on a small plane next to May, who is going through pre-flight checks. The two women share a glance, and Simmons knows that May is trying to tell her to be strong, but Simmons doesn't want to be strong right now; she wants solitude. So she finds a quiet corner of the plane and allows herself to cry, allows herself to curse them for putting her on this plane right when she needs to be anywhere else. She doesn't allow herself think about why the tears come.

When the plane takes off, she composes herself and prepares to face him, to face  _them_ , but when she arrives in the common room, she only sees Fitz.

"They wanted her to stay, last minute," he explains, unable to meet her eyes. "They thought it'd be better if she were to run comms on all the ops, not just ours."

"Oh," Simmons says. "So it's just us and May?"

"No." Fitz fidgets a bit. "This is one of the self-guiding planes I've been working on. It's just us."

"Oh."

Simmons forces a smile, but when she tries to walk away, she feels his hand on her arm, and she turns to be enveloped in his embrace. She cries against him as he holds her, remembering happier times and harsher ones. His arms feel different than they used to be. Stronger.

He doesn't ask her what's wrong, but the truth is that she doesn't know. After a few minutes, he breathes a  _thank you_  against her temple, and she's not sure what he means.

Somehow, that moment seems to ease the tension between them, and they return to something like normal. But Simmons notices a tenderness in Fitz's voice, and it seems to wake something up inside her, something that seemed long dead.

***

The mission goes a lot better than Simmons originally expected, as she and Fitz are successful in modifying one of their DWARFS (Sneezy) to spew her latest dendrotoxin in aerosol form. They don't end up needing their newly-gained muscles (their new prisoner is now resting peacefully in a paralytic box they designed), but it's good to know that they had the training if it proved necessary.

Simmons expected Hannah (or Jensen, or whatever she was being called at the moment) to be constantly in their ear, but she must have been too busy with the other ops to bother them much. It gives Simmons pause, though, knowing that Hannah could hear any word at any moment. She's relieved when she can take her earpiece out and it's just her and her best friend again.

When they land at the Playground, Simmons has hopes that things will be alright again, that things will go back to normal, the real normal that existed before HYDRA. But when they step onto the tarmac, Hannah runs to be swept up in Fitz's arms, and she feels her hopes crumble before her. 

It's nice that Masters is there to see her, though. His embrace is warm, but somehow crushing. 

She looks over at Fitz, and finds him looking back at her.

***

The next day, in the lab, she feels Fitz's eyes on her before she even walks through the door.

"You said we'd talk."

She eyes the hands on his hips in stunned silence. She thought he'd be in the gym.

"I've been learning a lot about open communication lately," he says, fidgeting with a screwdriver. "So, you know, I didn't want to wait until we were at the bottom of the ocean this time." When he looks up at her, his eyes are pleading, and she knows how hard he's trying.

"Okay," she manages to say.

They spend an awkward minute staring at each other, willing the other to speak, until Fitz puts up a hand in surrender.

"I didn't tell Hannah about what happened in the ocean. I haven't told anybody."

Simmons gulps, "But you will?"

"What? No. Why would I—" He pinches the bridge of his nose, "You said it should stay between us, and it will. But I had to tell Hannah something, because we spend so much time together and you are, you know, a girl." He shakes his head and swears under his breath. "I'm not good at this, okay? At any of this. So you're gonna have to . . . you're going to have to tell me."

Simmons frowns. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me what's wrong!" His hands go up in the air to punctuate his words. "You don't feel the same way I do, and that's . . . that's fine, alright? I told you before that I wasn't expecting—" He makes fist and closes his eyes. "I've spent ten years trying to impress you, so obviously there was always a part of me that knew it wasn't working."

"Wait, what?" Suddenly, she's counting back on her fingers, even though she knows the answer.

"So I tried to move on, respect your wishes and all that."

"You mean, since the Academy?"

"What?" Fitz stops, obviously frustrated by her interruption.

"You've been trying to impress me since the Academy?"

 

"Yes, yes of course I have. Since the first moment I saw you." He shrugs. "But I've stopped, haven't I? Haven't I done exactly what you asked me to do?"

She's putting the pieces together, and she feels the tears forming. "Yes, of course, Fitz. You have."

"So just tell me what's wrong already." His eyes don't harbor the anger that should accompany his words. Instead, she sees something more like desperation. "Oh, don't cry," he says, his voice softening, his arms embracing her again. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I know," she says, her voice hoarse.

"What's wrong, Jemma?" His tone is soft this time, soothing in a way that is so rare for him that she wants to find a way to hold on to it forever.

"I don't know, Fitz." She pulls him tighter, feeding off his warmth, "I don't know. Skye says I've changed." She pulls back to meet his eyes. "Have I?"

Fitz looks her up and down, "I—I don't know. You've been through a lot." He runs a hand through his hair. "A lot of that is my fault, I suppose. What with all the drowning I've been doing lately." 

He smiles at her expectantly, and she smiles back in spite of herself.

"There you go again," she says, wiping the last tear from her cheek.

"There I go and do what, exactly?"

"Impressing me, of course."

She gives him another smile and thanks him before she changes the subject to the paralytic box, and he lets her.

***

"I saw the report from your mission. I hear Coulson was very pleased."

When Hannah walked into the lab, Simmons tried to explain that this was Fitz's usual time for exercise, but Hannah brushed her off. Now, she gives a warm smile that Simmons can't quite return.

"Actually," the psychologist continues, "I remember that he said you did well for your first solo mission." She pauses, and Simmons feels the anxiety well up inside her. "Which is weird, because the report clearly shows that both of you were there."

Simmons forces a laugh. "It's a common mistake. They act like we're Siamese twins." She eyes Hannah's expression, and the words keep tumbling out. "Joined at the hip. Peas in a pod. We aren't, of course; it's just, that we've worked together for so long. Professionally."

The following silence is deafening.

"Right," Hannah finally says. "Anyway, since you and the other teams were so successful, I have a lot of new patients, each with different needs." She produces formal requisition order from her pocket and hands it to Simmons. "These are the medications I'll need for their treatment, but our stock is low, and you know how long it takes for us to resupply. I was hoping you could synthesize them for me. At least enough to hold me over."

Simmons looks over the list, recognizing each item and quickly calculating the chemical properties of each.

"Shouldn't be a problem," Simmons says, "but it will take a few days."

"I can hold off until then."

"Agent Simmons?"

The voice comes from behind her, but she recognizes it instantly and freezes. It takes a moment for her to compose herself before turning around to face Koenig.

"Ah, there you are," Koenig says, seemingly unaware of her distress, "do you know where Fitz is? We're having trouble with the outer security systems."

Simmons blinks.

"He's, uh, in the gym, I expect," she stammers.

"Great, thanks."

It's not until Koenig is completely out of sight that Simmons allows herself to breathe.

"Whoa, are you okay? Why don't you sit down."

Before she knows it, Hannah is guiding her into a chair, no matter how much Jemma insists that it's unnecessary. Soon, she is seated and Hannah is eyeing her curiously.

"Do you and Koenig . . . have a history of some kind?"

It's the most absurd thing Simmons has ever heard.

"No, of course not. This is only the third time I've even been in the same room with him."

"I see. What about one of his brothers? They look remarkably alike, even for twins. It's a little creepy, if you ask me."

Simmons tries not to think about the truth of that statement.

"Wait," Hannah continues, "I think Leo told me about this. At Providence? One of them was there, right?"

She's clutching at the seat of her chair, trying desperately to hold on.

"I don't . . ."

"What's going on?"

Simmons feels like she's never been happier to see Fitz in her life, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she doubts that it's true.

"Koenig was here." The words come out of her mouth like the bullet from a gun. "He's looking for you."

"Okay," Fitz says, nodding to himself. "Hannah, were you looking for me, too?"

Simmons watches as Hannah looks at Fitz, then at her, and back at Fitz.

"I came by to see Jemma, actually. She's going to whip up some meds for my new patients. But I have to talk to Koenig, now that I think of it. I'll go with you."

Simmons isn't sure why Hannah is lying, but when the psychologist winks at her and threatens to talk to her later, she has to remember to breathe in and out, in and out.

When the couple walks out of the lab, hand in hand, she folds her arms on the table and hides in them.

***

"Hide me," Skye says, ducking behind the microscope Simmons is using.

"Hide you? From whom?" She puts a hand around her work protectively, afraid Skye will bump into something.

"Trip!" Skye looks over her shoulder. "He's trying to get me to sign up for a marathon."

"A marathon? We can barely leave the compound, and even then, the town outside is so small that they only have one restaurant. Honestly, I don't think that they'd be able to stay in business if it weren't for us agents trying to get some R&R."

Simmons takes a breath to steady herself, trying not to feel claustrophobic.

"It's within the compound. It's some SHIELD Ops tradition or something. They're going to set up a whole course. I think that everybody has to do at least a 5K, but Trip wants me to do the whole thing."

"Coulson is really trying beef up our strength, isn't he?"

"Yeah, well you know we're spread pretty—" Skye bolts under the table as Trip walks in. When he asks about Skye, Simmons shrugs, and he leaves. A few seconds pass.

"He's gone, Skye."

"Oh, good." She stands up and puts her hair back in place. "By the way, where's Fitz?"

"He was called away an hour or so ago. Something about the security system being on the fritz."

"If it's on the fritz, call Fitz?" Skye laughs at her own joke. "That's pretty good, actually. I should tell him, in case he ever decides to start an AC repair business."

"That's not likely."

Skye shrugs it off. "So," she says, "how's Brian?"

"Brian?"

Skye blinks. "Brian, your boyfriend?"

"Oh," Simmons shakes her head, "Masters is definitely not my boyfriend."

"Apparently, he's not even Brian."

Simmons shoots her friend a suspicious glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Simmons," Skye says, as if reprimanding a child, "why are you spending so much time with this guy when you don't even like him?"

Simmons huffs. "I wouldn't spend time with him if I didn't like him."

"You're acting like you're just dating him because it's something to do."

"Well, I'm not. He's clearly a very attractive man, what with his symmetrical features and toned biceps . . ."

She hears Skye groan—actually  _groan_  as she puts her forehead on the desk. "Look, I'm all for objectifying men, but seriously—"

"I'm not objectifying!"

"You are  _always_  objectifying, Simmons. Every single time you talk about guys you like, you always talk about their looks. Every. Single. Time. Not that I don't get it." She sits down and puts her hands in the air in mock surrender. "I just think that at some point or another, you need to figure out what you  _really_  like in men. Like, what makes them interesting to you. And you do not find Masters interesting."

Simmons wants to counter the argument, but before she can, Skye just pats her on the head, tells her to think about it, and walks out.

The only thing that Simmons can think of is how much she does not like being patted on the head.

The next time she and Masters are out together, strolling along the edge of the compound by moonlight, she takes his hand, instead of waiting for him to take hers. And when she asks him if it's okay to call him by his first name, he smiles before he leans in to kiss her.

She kisses him back, as usual, but this time she deepens the kiss, hoping that it will ignite a fire within her heart.

It doesn't.


	4. Chapter 4

Simmons pauses before knocking on the door that bears the nameplate  _Agent Hannah Jensen, MD, Psy. D_. When her knuckles make contact with the wood, she hears Hannah's sing-song welcome, and she enters. 

"Ah, Jemma. Did you finish already?"

Simmons merely nods, reminding herself to smile. She sets a black box on the table.

"The box is designed to be impenetrable, opened only by your retinal scan."

Hannah smiles. "You looked up old SHIELD protocols. I'm impressed." 

Simmons takes a second to take in Hannah's office, noticing several potted plants (likely fake), the obligatory framed diplomas (both from Stanford), a picture of her upon graduation from SciTech, and a picture of the psychologist herself . . . with Fitz.

"I thought it important, considering that these are controlled substances."

"And you brought it in person. Very thorough."

"Of course."

Fitz is smiling in the photo, his mouth in the tight, reserved smile of a man who would rather be behind the camera. Hannah is shown in profile as she kisses his cheek.

"Jemma, I admit that I'm glad to see you today."

"Oh?"

It's not a full-body picture, but Fitz's arm is clearly visible around Hannah's shoulder, and, at the very bottom of the frame, his other hand holds hers.

"As you know, I'm required to periodically perform psychological assessments for all of the agents at the Playground, mostly as I see it's needed." The psychologist folds her hands and leans in towards Simmons. "Right now, I'm starting to wonder what it is that  _you_  need."

The smiling Hannah in the picture is a stark contrast to the concerned Hannah behind the desk, and Simmons avoids her eyes as a white-hot knife of mortification cuts through her.

"I'm sorry?" 

"Look, I know that we're friends, so normally I would refer this to someone else to handle. But since nearly all of my colleagues decided to use their expertise for more . . . nefarious purposes, I'm all SHIELD has right now."

Simmons finds herself shaking her head. Friends?

"But I'm looking at your file," Hannah continues, "and I think I'm starting to understand that you probably should have received counseling a long time ago. Your transition from SciOps to being a field agent would have been traumatic for anyone, but with the specific scenarios you've been put in, like having to save Skye, or finding out your teammate was HYDRA . . ." 

Simmons finds herself grabbing at the sides of her chair, gulping down the bile that's making her stomach swim. She can almost smell the copper in the air, the trail of red that stopped at the light switch.

" . . . and when you add on top of that the events that happened with Leo, in the ocean and after, you start to wonder how you managed to get this far without help."

Simmons tries to look away from Hannah's eyes, but then she finds Fitz's smile, and it's worse, like the walls are closing in on her, and she wants to run, but she knows that here's no point, because there's not a single place that she can go where people won't be watching.

"I've looked at your work here at the Playground, Jemma. Besides occasionally helping Leo with his projects, it seems to me like you've spent months working on formula after formula for this . . . what is it called? Dendrotoxin?"

She nods, but what she really wants to do is curl up into a ball and wait for this nightmare to end.

"Jemma, how many versions of one formula does SHIELD really need? Now, I won't lie to you; it's looking like a waste of resources, and SHIELD has very few as it is. I'm not saying you're doing something wrong, Jemma. I'm not getting you in trouble. I'm just pointing it out. I saw the way you reacted around Agent Koenig, and I think I know why. I think that if you're really honest with yourself, you'll know why, too. And maybe, if we talk about this together, we can figure this out, get you back to being the brilliant scientist you've always been."

She hears the words, but the meaning is lost behind memories of opening a corpse and the way the jar crashed when Fitz threw it to the ground.

"Of course, I know you're not alone. You're still close to your former team, and they support you. So, I don't think we need to make this an official request, at least, not yet. Maybe if you don't want to talk to me, you can talk to your friends. But, Jemma, you should talk to someone. Okay?"

She almost laughs at the thought of opening up to May, or to Coulson, who is far too busy to talk to anyone. And Skye? No, she would only open up the wounds that Skye has so carefully stitched together.

"Jemma?"

Simmons dares to look in the eyes of the monstrous person who dares to drudge up things she does not understand.

"You don't need the drugs, do you? This was just some test." She meant for it to come out as a roar, but it ends up as a whimper.

Hannah pauses, pursing her lips.

"Well, I did need the meds. But Jemma, everything is a test. This upheaval of SHIELD has been a test for all of us, and you've passed when many have failed. You've passed all of the tests that have been thrown your way this past year. But these days, that seems to be all that you're doing. Passing. And when I see that pattern applied to an agent like the genius Jemma Simmons? That's when I start to get worried."

She wants to get mad, to yell and rage at such presumptions, but her heart is too cold and too hollow.

"So, how about it, Jemma? Do you feel like talking to me is a good idea?"

She shakes her head.

"Okay, but you'll talk to a friend right? Maybe Skye?"

Simmons nods, because, after all, what's one more lie?

When she's finally allowed to escape, Simmons has to lean against the wall to steady herself against the waves of memories that won't stop coming, and the face of a man with a sliced neck who still walks these halls.

She wants to run, but the truth is that there's nowhere to go. This place is not what it was supposed to be, and as she feels the darkness seep into her skin, she sees how much it pales to the bright hope she had as a cadet. 

She's lost, and she's starting to realize that she's been lost for a long time.

And after a few shaky breaths and a single tear of terror, her whirling mind comes to one, chilling conclusion. 

***

She hesitates before she knocks on the door, but when she hears the creaking hinges, she knows that this is where she needs to be.

"Jemma?" Fitz asks, scratching his head, "what's wrong?"

She takes a big breath, because it was never supposed to happen at all, and never, never happen like this. But resisting it is like resisting the tide, and she's already been pulled in.

"I'm going to leave SHIELD, Fitz. I just, I wanted to say goodbye."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jemma, no." 

It's not an admonition, or a command. It's like the soft cooing of denial, of a plea for this to be a joke or a dream when it's clear that it's neither. He leans against the door frame like he's lost all strength, but she has none to give him.

"SHIELD isn't SHIELD anymore, Fitz. It's not the way it was at the Academy. There's no bright future for u-us."

She trips on the last word, trying to decide if it's wrong or right and coming to the conclusion that it's too late, and she's too tired, and it's Fitz.

Fitz, whose face contorts into something between terror and compassion.

Fitz, who looks like a rug has been pulled out from under him, and even though he knows she did it, he can't blame her.

She knows that she can't bear to watch him break, and suddenly they're in an embrace, and she's not sure who began it. The door closes behind them, and they sob like they're one being, except half of it keeps whispering  _don't go, don't go_  while the other half whispers  _I have to, I have to._

She feels his tears on her shoulder, and she knows that they're melting her resolve, but she tries to push away, and she can't. When they separate, it's because he looks her in the eyes and says that if she's going, he's going with her.

For just a moment, she can see it, the two of them conquering the world together. They could work for Stark Industries, or they could go out on their own without interference from anyone.

But even as she sees it, she shakes her head. This is what he loves. He still has his faith, and Hannah, and she won't take it all away from him when they can give him so much that she can't.

She's broken, she tells him. He broke his arm, and she broke her whole soul. Sometimes, when there's a problem for them to solve, she would start to feel like she could manage, that not quite everything has fallen apart. But it has.

They haven't fallen apart, he tells her. She kept them together. They were both going to break, but she gave her strength so he wouldn't. If only he was strong enough to keep her in one piece.

She feels the ghost of a canister in her hands, and she knows that they both gave things to each other.

There are other words, other pleadings and confessions, but long after their tears have gone dry, it's still  _don't go, don't go_  and _I have to, I have to_.

Don't go, don't go.

I have to, I have to.

Why?

She blinks at him. He knows why. Even Hannah knows why. SHIELD isn't SHIELD and Simmons isn't Simmons. Both are broken beyond repair.

But he must not know, because he asks her how she broke.

The silence that widens the space between them is unbearable, and the words stand at the back of her throat, but she's not sure that she has to courage to say them.

But then, it's Fitz.

If she's ever going to say it, she wants him to be the one to hear it.

So she tells him that while he saw the writing on the wall, she saw it engraved in flesh. She tells him that it didn't matter how many corpses she'd dissected, because this was a man she  _knew_ , the one that was supposed to keep them  _safe_. And that after the riddle was solved, the truth of it had to be pulled from his body, an ugly truth written in a language that only she could read. She deciphered his remains and felt that she had put the last nail in the coffin that held a small piece of herself. 

Ward had saved her.  _Saved_  her. And she had thought that they were getting through to him, but it was he who was getting to them. He pretended to be one of them, and they bought it.

He gave her life back to her, and he made her trust him, and then he took her life and her trust. SHIELD had taken her trust. And then they took the one person who meant more than both.

She could forgive them for what they did to her, but not for what they did to him. Not the way they made him rage and fight, not the way she had little to offer him but her own silence.

There was no use hoping, nothing worth trusting anymore.

Except Fitz, who was farther away from her with every breath they breathed.

Her fault, of course.

She tried to save him, and ended up hurting him more than anyone ever could.

Years later, she will look back on this moment and not know how much was said through blubbering sobs, how much came by words, and how much was simply understood. But she will remember, very clearly, that once her truth was out, once her pain was named, the stabbing in her heart became more like the pin pricks of an arm regaining circulation. She'll remember it as the moment when she started to thaw.

She'll remember that eventually, all of the words turned into  _don't leave me, don't leave me_  and  _I won't, I won't_. They turned into  _I love you, I love you_  and  _I'll stay, I'll stay_.

Just for a little while, she'll stay.

***

She didn't promise forever. She only promised to give him a chance to show her that it wasn't over, and for some reason, that meant running Coulson's race.

"You'll see," he says. 

She doesn't know what he means. But when things become too much, she finds herself at his door, and they talk.

Maybe Hannah was right.

They start exercising together, and hour and a half every morning. She worried that he wouldn't be able to keep up with her, but Trip must have done his job, because they are evenly matched. So evenly matched, that at some point in the run, she'll see him smiling that smile at her, a finger hovering over the treadmill controls, and she can't help but smile back. He pushes the buttons to go faster, but so does she, and it's a race to the finish that always ends in gasps and exhausted laughter. Sometimes she wins, and sometimes he does, but they're both progressing faster than they ever would on their own, because that's who they are.

When they return to the lab, freshly showered, Jemma puts the dendrotoxin away, because the run has cleaned the clutter from her mind, and new ideas have started to fill the empty spaces. Who can worry about a paralytic when there are thousands upon thousands of scientific breakthroughs waiting for her? When she still needs to study the Chitauri virus? When GH-325 is out there to be re-discovered? But those old mysteries have to be given a sparse amount of time, because there are so many new things to get out to the team that will help them defeat HYDRA once and for all.

Or, at least, give them as much as a head start as possible while she still can.

Like he promised, Fitz is there every step of the way. He is no longer minding his own business, because it's their business. It's their discoveries.

Sometimes, he'll show her a new mechanism with such pride that she can't keep the smile off of her face. He's trying to impress her, she can see that now. But maybe she's trying to impress him, too. Just a little.  

It's funny, how not too long ago, she used to crave more time alone in the lab. Now, when Hannah picks him up at the end of the day, she feels a twinge in her stomach, but she only lets them see her smile and wave.

She reminds herself that Masters—Brian—is due any minute.

***

"Fitzsimmons?"

It's the first time they've seen Coulson in a month.

"We have recently located an asset who's on the MIA list. I need you to extract him."

Simmons and Fitz look at each other. Simmons still reads the list over breakfast sometimes, scanning for the names of old SciOps colleagues, hoping that more will be accounted for with each update. Still, it gives her pause.

"Sir?" Simmons says, "That sounds like a job for an operations agent-"

"Or at least someone with combat experience-" Fitz continues.

"We've been trained, yes, but-"

"It doesn't mean that we can storm an entire complex by ourselves."

They share a knowing look, but Coulson appears unmoved.

"We don't have time for a full briefing," he says, handing Fitz a blue folder. "You'll have to fill yourselves in en route. But I'll tell you that you are both more than adequate for the task." Coulson gives them a wink, then exits.

"There better not be bears," Simmons says.


	6. Chapter 6

As they board another self-navigating plane, Simmons can't help but recall their last time out in the field, but she tries to put it out of her mind and focus. 

"This could be our last mission together," she breathes, watching the door close.

His eyes ask her not to say that, and when he has words, they're, "You could change your mind."

She smiles, but she knows that it's hollow. The truth is that things  _are_  better, but she still has this nagging feeling that she doesn't quite belong.

And maybe that's what it is. Maybe she just doesn't fit anymore.

But she doesn't say that. Instead, she takes the blue folder from Fitz's hands and starts to read.

"Fitz, I think we can do this."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah."

They go over the mission objectives together, hash out ideas and flesh out details, and by the time the plane lands, she smiles at him and finds him smiling right back.

As they descend the dark staircase, Simmons is relieved that the intel seems to be good—the complex appears deserted.

"You see?" Fitz pauses, as he takes a second to scan for heat signatures. "Coulson wouldn't let a member of the team down."

"Fitz, it's gotten to the point where I hardly ever expect to see Coulson again, much less have any kind of relationship. We don't have a team anymore."

Fitz looks down at his shoes, fidgeting.

"But," Simmons continues, "that's just life, I suppose. People drift into your life, and they drift out. The truth is that there are actually very few relationships that truly last through time."

"You mean like ours?"

Fitz is still staring at his feet, even as they go down another flight of stairs, and when they finally reach the bowels of the complex, she still doesn't have an answer for him.

A year ago, she would have rolled her eyes at the question, because of course they were always going to be there for each other. It used to be one of the laws of physics. Now, it seems like a fantasy. 

When they finally reach the bottom, far below ground level, she starts to see her breath, and she's glad that they brought heavy jackets. Simmons has to step carefully, because it's cold enough that the floor is covered in frost.

"We're almost there," Fitz assures her, a twinge of pain evident in his voice. He disables the security system, then picks the lock on a pair of heavy double doors. When they swing open, they find rows and rows of what looks like large filing cabinets. The drawers of these cabinets, each about seven feet long and three feet tall, are marked with numbers, and they split up to widen the search.

It doesn't take too long before she hears a, "Found it!" from the far corner of the room, and she rushes (carefully) to Fitz's location.

"Here she is, number 3474. Let's open her up, shall we?"

Fitz pries open a frosted control panel, reaching behind a screen that is flashing in red. When he crosses a wire or two, the color changes to green. As the cabinet opens and a coffin-sized box pops out, he beams at her.

Simmons touches the frozen metal on the outside in awe. "We theorized about this," she says.

"Ah, we'll just have to reverse-engineer it, yeah?"

"I suppose. Watch out; the edges are sharp."

She wipes the fog away from the glass at the top of the box, and when she peers down, she sees the face hidden under a long beard.

"The hair still grows," she gasps, "how long do you think he's been in there? Who is he?"

Fitz shrugs, already back to work on the control panel. "Who knows? Okay, are you ready for disconnect?"

Simmons nods. "Ready."

Fitz's hands retreat from the panel, and she hears a _thud_  and a  _hiss_  as the wires disconnect from the cryo unit, but Simmons already has the anti-grav rollers in place. She smiles at him as they see the box float two feet from the ground. Studying the Chitauri virus has come in handy.

"Quick, he'll start to thaw," she reminds him, and together, they guide the cryo unit out of the room and slowly up the stairs. Simmons takes a look at the rows and rows of people left behind as the double doors shut, wondering how long they will have to wait before anyone comes to wake them up.

She doesn't realize how distracted she is until she feels the slash of metal across her skin, and she looks down at her arm to find that the corner of the cryo unit has opened up a gash in her arm. She howls in pain.

"Jemma!"

Fitz hates every bodily fluid known to mankind, but his fingers close the wound, and he's letting a trickle of her blood run down his wrist and down the sleeve of his coat. It hurts, but she tells him to put more pressure on it, and he obeys. When he asks if she brought a first aid kit, she shakes her head with gritted teeth. He guides the hand on her good arm and places it on the wound.

"Just hold tight for a second, okay?"

He itches his nose, inadvertently marking himself with her blood, then removes his coat and shirt.

"Fitz, you'll freeze!"

"Don't worry about that. My heart is beating a mile a minute." Without another word, he rips the shirt into strips, using the edge of the cryo unit as a blade. As he ties a strip tightly around her arm, she is admittedly distracted by the view. It turns out that Fitz has abs now, and the rest of him isn't so bad either.

"How's that?" he asks, as if he's not standing half naked in an ice box.

"Perfect," she says. "Let's get to the plane." 

The beauty of the anti-grav device is that it does all the lifting for them, and Fitz guides it along while Jemma follows behind, pressing down on the wound. When they get to the plane, and she has the appropriate medical supplies, she's able to take better care of the gash.

She hears a sharp intake of breath from Fitz. "How bad is it?"

"I don't think I need stitches, so not too bad. But I can't really see it that well from this angle. I'll get a second opinion when we touch down."

"Good thing it isn't far."

She gives him a reassuring smile, trying not to look at his very-defined pectoral muscles. Fitz, of course, did not feel the need to bring a change of clothes, and putting the heavy coat on would be silly at room temperature. So he sits there, his muscles heaving with each breath (he must be worried).

She reminds him about the cryo unit, and he immediately hooks it into their homemade thawing device. When he's finished, she cautiously reaches to wipe the dried blood off of his nose and arms. He wipes the sweat off of his forehead, but Simmons can see the sweat in the places he missed, and she bites her lip. This is going to be the longest hour of her life.

When they land, agents swarm in to take the cryo unit off of their hands, and when they are suddenly alone, Fitz puts his hand on the small of her back to lead her out. When he moves his arm to put it around her, she almost freezes, but instead decides to let herself relax into him.

When they make it out to the commotion, they find that Hannah is standing over the cryo unit, giving them a rather confused look. Simmons wonders why Hannah's here at all, and why she seems to be . . . in charge? Of a frozen man?

"Jemma's hurt; I have to take her to the med team," he explains, leading her on. Jemma feels bad about the smile that curls her lips.

***

"Are you going to be okay here?"

She's seated while a nurse tends to her wound, and she's about to tell him to go when she's informed that she'll need stitches after all.

"Can you stay a while?"

One corner of his mouth turns upwards as he nods.

"So, who is he, do you think?" Fitz asks, she knows he's just trying to distract her, but she lets him. "A scientist, perhaps?"

"Or an operative?" Simmons wonders. "We are short on operatives these days. Besides, if he was a scientist-"

"We'd recognize him? I don't know, Simmons. Maybe we will after he shaves off the beard."

He smiles, she smiles back, and they keep speculating as they administer a local anesthetic. When they tell her that the stitches are finished, she looks up in shock.

"Done already?"

"Well," Fitz says, playing with the fabric on the hospital bed, "I'd better find a shirt somewhere. I'll see you in the lab?"

She nods, but when he turns to leave, she feels her hand reach out and grab his. His gaze snaps back to her.

"Thank you," she says.

"Of course."

She doesn't let go of his hand as much as she allows his fingers to slip through hers, and when he goes into the hallway and disappears, she can still feel the imprint of his skin. 

***

The cryo box is waiting for her when she enters the lab, with the new arrival still inside. She thinks it will take them a few days to revive him; any faster and they'd risk brain damage. She stares at him for a moment, thinking it strange that she is looking from the outside in this time.

"I heard you got hurt."

She doesn't need to turn around to know that it's Brian, and that he will come up to wrap his arms around her from behind.

"Are you okay?"

She smells his cologne, turning to greet him with the kiss he will expect.

"Right as rain, I promise." 

He cups her cheek, stroking her jawline with his thumb as he coaxes the story out of her.

"I heard that you got stitches. If I'd known, I would have been there with you."

She shakes her head. "Not necessary."

His eyes meet hers, and she feels his gaze bore into her. She tries to look away, tries to calm the panic that creeps around her heart like vines, but she can't move. 

"Fitz was there, wasn't he?" Brian finally breaks contact, letting go of her to rake his fingers through his hair. "You called him."

It takes a second for her to find the words. "No," she clarifies, "he was already with me."

"Of course he was. You two are Fitzsimmons, right? Did you even want me there?"

She doesn't understand the tone in his voice, or the accusation that comes with it. It's like she tapped a piece of granite and watched it explode.

"We've been dating for months now, Jemma.  _Months_. And I know you have a thing about labels, but I am your boyfriend, right? When you get hurt, you're supposed to want your boyfriend to be there."

Jemma frowns. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, but we literally went straight from the plane to the med unit. I didn't have time to think—"

Brian stops pacing, and she hears him take a deep breath, as if to calm himself. 

"Okay, maybe I'm a little worked up, but it's because I care about you. I  _care_  about you, Jemma. But I'm starting to wonder if you care about me."

She tries to think of words to say to him, but what she wants to do is to run. She leans against a table with her hands behind her, clutching at the edge.

"I'm starting to think," Brian continues, "that maybe there just isn't room in your life for me. Maybe that's why we don't seem to be going anywhere." He steps forward, takes one of her hands, and holds it in his. "I want to be there for you, okay? But I'm not the one that you run to." His hand is warm, but it somehow chills her. "Now, I know that Fitz is more than just your lab partner. There's a reason he was there for you today, even if you don't believe it."

He lets go of her hand, and she watches him rub his temples, feeling like she should say something, but the words won't come. She just wants to get out of here. To escape him, somehow. But for some reason, she's paralyzed.

"So, I hate to be 'that guy,' but I've been too patient about this. I have waited and waited for you to be ready to take the next step, and I just can't do it anymore. So I'm going to need you to choose: me or Fitz."

"What?" It comes out as a squeak.

"I'm going to need you to choose, Jemma. I'm not saying that you can't be friends, of course, but I need to know that I'm a priority in your life. Or that, at least, you're willing to _make_  me a priority." He closes his eyes, bringing a thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "I'll give you some time to think about it, okay? I know you like to mull things over. I'll see you tomorrow?"

His hands are on her shoulders now, and when she nods, he releases her. She watches him leave, still digesting his words, mixing them with Skye's and adding in the tears that moistened Fitz's shoulder. He hasn't even made it to the door before everything seems to settle down, and she has her answer.

"Fitz," she whispers, and Brian stops in his tracks. "I choose Fitz."

Brian gives her a mournful look before directing his eyes to the floor.

"Okay," he says, and disappears.

She feels a sudden urge to chase after him, to tell him that she's sorry, or that it wasn't his fault, or something, but when she exits the lab, she almost trips over Fitz.

Almost trips, because he catches her. When the pain in her arm makes her wince, he immediately lets go.

Fitz looks at the vanishing figure of Masters, then back at her. She doesn't ask him what he heard, because she knows.

"I found a shirt," he says.


	7. Chapter 7

They don't exercise together the next day, but it's supposed to be a rest day, anyway. Coulson's race will begin in a short twenty-four hours, and she hasn't even started packing yet. 

Well, she's  _tried_  to pack, but somehow she's incapable of putting even one item into a box.

As she monitors the vitals of their new arrival, she plays the events of the previous day over and over in her head, unable to shake the look in Fitz's eyes before she left to chase after Masters. They've become so good about talking lately, but she doesn't know what else she can say. She looks at her bandage and sighs.

She only knows that she's glad that she never actually caught up to Masters. Showing up at Skye's door was a much better way to spend an evening. 

She's been in the lab for an hour when he stumbles in, yawning, and when she asks if he's okay, he says that he had trouble sleeping. He smiles at her, but it's a forced smile, and it ushers in the ghost of all the unbearable silences that were supposed to be long gone.

"How's our patient?" Fitz asks, still yawning as he hovers over the control panel for the cryo unit.

He's not looking at her, but he has to feel the way she's watching him, willing him to meet her eyes.

"Everything's going according to plan." She sighs. "Whatever freezing technique they used is remarkable."

She knows whatever he was trying to do with the control panel is already done. He's only pretending to be working to avoid her gaze, and it's maddening.

"I'll have to take this whole thing apart when he's out. I can't wait for us to figure out how it works." He pauses, tapping his fingers against the panel. "By the way, I figured out how you can learn the identity of our mystery man."

"Oh?"

He looks up at her then, his eyes full of pain and pleading.

"You'll have to stay."

Words fail her, and before she can find them, he mumbles something about guidance system maintenance and leaves.

***

It's not until later, when she's lying awake in her bed, replaying his words over and over, that she hears a knock on her door, and she knows it's him.

He walks right past her when she opens the door, his hands in his hair as he starts pacing the length of her room.

"Fitz, is everything okay?"

Her instinct is to reach out to him, to take his arm and comfort him somehow, but it's clear that it's not what he wants.

"No, it's not okay." He stops. "I need . . . I need to talk to you."

She gulps. "Alright."

He opens his mouth, then closes it, resuming his pacing.

"I just," he has a fist to his forehead. "Hannah and I have been fighting." He ruffles his already unruly hair. "She lied to me, Jemma. Remember how she said that she was sacked at the Fridge? Taken off her cases?"

Jemma nods, noticing the red rims around his eyes. "Sent to Sesk . . . Seska . . ."

"Saskatchewan. It's in Canada; I had to look it up." He wrings his hands. "Only, I guess it doesn't matter, because she never went there. She went to that . . . that place we were at. With the frozen people. Jemma, she was recruited by Pierce himself."

Jemma sucks in a breath.

"She didn't realize what they were doing until it was too late, and she bolted. That's what she says, anyway. I wasn't sure what to do, if I should tell you, or . . . well I've been trying to talk to Coulson all day, and he already knew about it."

It only takes a moment for it to click in Jemma's head..

"She's the source of the intel we've been getting," she guesses. "Her name was on the MIA list."

Fitz nods, but won't look at her. 

"Last night, she just told me. She didn't have to, I guess. Jemma, our guy is a test case. As soon as we can prove that we can bring them back, she's going to save all those people. And I guess I understand why she'd keep it from me, well, from everyone, because of how it looks. Maybe I should forgive her, you know, if it all checks out, but I just . . . I don't want to. Anyway, that's not what I came here to say."

He stops, looks at her, then starts pacing again. Jemma can do nothing but watch him.

"I'm going to say it, I swear." His voice is hushed, as if he's talking to himself. "I'm going to say it."

"Say what, Fitz?"

He turns to her, and when her eyes meet his, she sees the fear that vibrates through him, but the longing she's seen before is still there.

"Tell me that you're not in love with me."

"What?"

Of all the words that could have come out of his mouth, she did not expect these.

"Hannah says I've been acting strangely, pulling away from her a bit. And, you know, she's right." He folds his arms. "The last few weeks, it's like something's changed between you and me, and it's got to be all in my head, right? We're just getting back to where we used to be, nothing more?"

He stares at her, then starts pacing again.

"I've done everything that I was supposed to do, Jemma. I gave you your space, I tried moving on, I even got myself a girlfriend. I've never had a girlfriend before, did you know that?"

She nods, her eyes trained at the floor.

"And Hannah, she's . . . she's great. She's wonderful, really. You don't know her that well, but she listens, and she notices. She says the things that other people are afraid to say, and she's taught me a lot of things. She's helped me be a better person."

"I know," Jemma croaks.

He stands still for a moment, fingers digging into his temples.

"She loves me, Jemma."

When the air is filled only with the smell of him, and the sound of his chest heaving, she knows that this is what they mean when they talk about a heart breaking.

"Oh," she says softly, barely able to push the sound out. "Do you . . ." She feels herself stiffen, bracing for impact. "Do you love her, too?"

When their eyes meet, she sees the tears he's trying to hold back, and she thinks of all the tears he's cried since they stepped on the BUS, since she brought him into this life. Every cell in her body screams at her to comfort him, but instead, she shrinks.

"I think . . ." He lowers his head, wiping his eyes. "I think I could. I think that maybe, we could get over this, and be okay, you know?"

Simmons nods.

"But Jemma," he pinches the bridge of his nose, and she can see now that he's shaking, "I just don't want that. It feels like something I'm  _supposed_  to want, and well, I've seen the way you look at me. And the time we spend together . . . sometimes I think it's almost like the way it was before, but it's not, is it? You're different. And I . . . well . . . I feel like I'm cheating, and I can't figure out if I'm cheating on Hannah, or if I'm cheating on you."

She closes her eyes, remembering the treadmill races and the shared smiles. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, and she's willing herself to stay in one place, to listen.

"Jemma, I still love you as much as I did before. More, really. And, I swear on my life, I love you enough to let you go. But I'm going to . . . I'm going to need you to do the same, alright? I need you to tell me that I'm making this up. I need you to tell me that nothing is ever going to happen between us. Because if I have just a sliver of hope, I'll never be free of you."

He's given her the words to say, and she holds them in her mouth, waiting.

"Jemma, just tell me that you don't love me, that you never will. Please."

He's pleading with his eyes as well as his lips, and she's suddenly in that box with him, and he's once again asking her to leave him behind.

"I can't do that," she whispers, hanging her head.

"What?"

She forces herself to meet his eyes, letting him see the guilt and the yearning she has held so close to her heart.

"I can't lie to you, Fitz." Her fingers trace the lining of her jumper. "I . . . I love you too much to do that."

They stare at each other, Fitz in shock, Jemma in desperation, before Fitz breaks his gaze, picking at his fingers. 

Before she knows it, her arms find their way around him as he stiffens.

"Then what you said . . . what you said to Masters . . ."

"I'm never going to choose anyone over you."

She feels him soften, but he doesn't embrace her, and she hugs him tighter for the ache of it, ignoring the sting of her wound.

"I'm sorry," she says, and she realizes that she's crying. "I know it's too late, and you don't have to choose me. I just . . . you put me back together when I fell apart. I can't let you go. I won't."

She's sobbing now, because she knows she's at a precipice, and she's not sure if it's her or Fitz that's about to fall off, but in a moment, she feels a calming kiss on her hairline.

"It's okay," he assures her, but she protests. "Jemma, please. I have to go talk to Hannah, alright?"

Her heart stops.

"Hannah? Why?"

He pulls away from her, and his hands find hers.

"Because I want to kiss you, but I have to break up with Hannah first. And I have to do it now, or I'll never leave."

Her hands drop, and she backs away, still processing his words, and he smiles at her before he leaves. She falls back on her bed, eyes still wet, waiting.

When he comes back, he doesn't knock, or say hello. Before she can sit up, he puts his lips to hers, her hand clutches at his shirt, and the heat burns the tears away.

***

"How far are we going?"

It's the first words she says to him when he arrives, because they're about to start a race in less than ten minutes, and last night, discussing their target distance must have slipped their minds.

"Well, are you sure you want to go at all? With your arm?" He nods towards her injury.

Jemma runs a hand (carefully) over the medical sleeve that now encloses the wound.

"It's new technology, meant to keep eveyrthing in place. I'm medically cleared."

Fitz takes her hand in his, and she blushes.

"Yeah, but are you sure you want to do this?"

She smiles at him and nods, feeling an unexpected eagerness. 

"Well," says Fitz, "we have to do at least the 5K, and we should be able to do that in about twenty-five minutes. My guess is that a 10K would take just under an hour, and the half marathon more than twice that. I don't think we're really up to a full marathon, but if that's what you want, I'll walk beside you the whole way." His eyes leave hers, becoming fixed on some point in the horizon. "So, I guess it depends on how far you want to go."

She reaches to put a hand on his shoulder, and his head whips around to face her.

"I don't want to do a full marathon. No way we're ready for that."

"Well, a half marathon still isn't . . ."

"I want to get done with this as soon as possible, so we can get out of here. So we can be alone, together."

He blinks, and it's like the first day after he woke up, when she knew that he knew her. 

"5K it is," he says, and she knows he looks away out of embarrassment. "And if you're so eager to get out of here, I'll race you."

She takes one more look at him, from his curly hair to their joined hands, thinking that only a few months ago, she never would have been able to do this. Yet here she is, about to prove that she went through a storm and came out stronger.

She wonders if that's why Fitz was so insistent on waiting this long. Maybe he wanted her to prove some things to herself.

She raises on her toes, unable to care that she's kissing him in public.

"You're on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading and commenting! Knowing what you think really helps me be a better writer.
> 
> P.S. Anyone who finds the Star Trek reference gets triple bonus points!


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